


Ultimate Despair Birthday

by OurStygianEmperor



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: AU, F/M, Frontotemporal Dementia, M/M, Mastermind Komaeda Nagito, Multi, Self-Denial, Self-Destruction, Short & Sweet, What-If, dr3 spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-08-12 13:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurStygianEmperor/pseuds/OurStygianEmperor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Junko Enoshima could not be the world's despair. Nagito knew this and despaired. He despaired, for there was no despair darker and more destructive than his own. </p><p>(A short what-if exploring what could have happened if a certain action in Despair: Episode 8 was successful. Spoilers for DR, SDR2, and DR3 should be expected.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disappointment

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, readers! I was inspired to write this short AU story after a funny post in the Danganronpa Reddit board. Yes, this completely earnest story originated from a joke. Inspiration knows no boundaries, I guess. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story! I don't expect it to take a long time to be completed--probably six or so chapters--so enjoy my little probing of the ultimate lucky student's mind!

Nagito Komaeda was cold. His clothes were drenched, his body was still accumulating to urban temperatures, and he was around six feet underground inside a dimly lit room. 

The frigid aura of the underclassman in front of Nagito and the feel of cool metal rubbing against his waistcoat, over his stable heart pumping chill blood, only worsened matters. 

Junko Enoshima. Nagito wondered if the torrent of rain and malice invading Hope’s Peak Academy belonged to her. Storms occurred in low-pressure areas: an astute observation made by those talented minds long ago and one he counted himself fortunate to be privy to. He was low-pressure, in many ways; but was Junko Enoshima low-pressure, too? Could she be the absolute bottom of life, so empty that she attracted the current storm? Hope would flood this world regardless of who or what summoned it, but was she devoid enough to call forth the greatest of hopes? He had to know.

“You see,” Nagito opened his eyes and gazed at Junko, “this is for hope.”

The fashion magazines did not do Junko justice. All of them, lifeless collages of talent so alive and real Nagito could feel her fair skin on his fingers, were made by the talentless for the talentless. It was no surprise, then, that he ended up procuring all of her magazines. What did surprise him was how the magazines were all the intel he needed. She was alive in them, and she was so very, very cold.

Nagito approached Junko, and he was getting colder. Each step felt more and more sunken. The descent was quite murky and enticing. 

“To protect hope,” Nagito raised his right arm up and to his heart, “I will do anything.”

That was an incomplete truth. Of course Nagito would do anything to  _ protect  _ hope; he would do even more to  _ embolden  _ it. He came to a stop and waited to hear Junko’s response to his words. Then, he would act.

Junko hadn’t given Nagito an eye during his approach, but she acknowledged him nonetheless. A small smirk slithered on her turned face, and, soon after, a snicker slipped smoothly through it. The snicker gradually evolved into a chortle--a vile one. It was ugly, as was the mouth it came from. He hid his surprise behind a mild-mannered smile. Right, the one he presented to the common ilk. The unworthy.

Junko turned to gaze back at Nagito. Her eyes were bright blue and almost shimmered in the darkness. “You think you can stop this despair?”

Nagito continued smiling. This was strange: the area around him felt submerged in a heat. The pressure tingled his pallid skin. It hurt; he was still cold. His gaze remained fixed on Junko’s eyes, but he realized something. 

The fire, the heat, the pressure… they originated from Junko. They  _ were _ Junko.

So this was the hand luck played Nagito. He continued smiling. He smiled--the mild-mannered smile presented to the common ilk, the unworthy--to himself. Super High School Level Despair? How arrogant of him to expect something more, and how foolish of Junko to parade that title around. 

Nagito’s hand slipped into his suit and clenched his souvenir. His hand froze its surprisingly warm, rubber grip. 

Nagito mused on some properties of Junko as he gripped his gun: she resided at the peak of talent. To be a fashionista required social acumen and precise modeling of fashion trends. Truly, a person so brilliant and pregnant with talent had no right to call herself despair. Despair resided at the abyss of talent. Alas, the world had no need for this blind and emasculated hope. He had no need for this illusory and optimistic despair.

Nagito saw that Junko had disguised her true self behind the shallow facade of despair. Her eyes betrayed her, revealing the source of his disappointment. She did not know it, but he lived in those eyes.

Nagito, the boy who hoped and hoped and hoped, lived in those starry eyes.

Nagito, the listless pariah who would destroy the world in order to ameliorate it, lived in those passionate eyes.

Nagito, the worthless scum who yearned for a  _ hope _ that he would never see and never should see as to not sully it with his presence, lived in those disgusting, loud, and  _ unworthy of the epithet ‘despair’ _ eyes.

Nagito pulled out his gun, aimed it at those eyes, and pulled the trigger.

…

Ah, what wonderful luck blessed him, Nagito Komaeda!


	2. Destiny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter! Not much to say about this besides that this little project of mine has gotten more engaging than I first imagined it would be. I wonder what Nagito will do with this stroke of luck? Surely, only good things can come of this...
> 
> Still have other projects to work on, so the next update will probably occur later. I'm about to start school, so I can't promise a consistent update schedule. I can only hope you enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> As always, critiques and reviews are encouraged. Take care, my readers!

Nagito felt a chill water droplet trickle down his forehead. It was joined in its descent by hot streams of blood. These sensations were nice--much more interesting than the screeching violating his ears.

Nagito indulged on this moment of tension too much: a violent strike to his arm shoved him off balance. He released his grip on his gun. When his mind refocused itself, he saw Chiaki Nanami staring down at him.

Chiaki ejected the magazine from his gun and tossed it aside. “Nagito…” her face was dark and her voice shaky, “why?”

… That's it?

Nagito smiled fully. “You, class rep.”

Chiaki rose a hand over her chest and stepped back.

Nagito looked down on his scorched cuffs. “Hope lights a way to the future… I must strengthen it. She,” he motioned his head to his right with a small sneer, “wasn’t true despair. She would only have dimmed the hope you radiate.”

Chiaki cut the air in front of her with a trembling hand. “This… Killing people isn’t hope! And who cares about despair?!”

“... What?”

“People are why hope and despair matter, not the other way around!”

Nagito frowned. “If you think that, you should kill me.”

“...”

“I won’t hesitate to do it again.”

“...”

“There is no boundary I won’t cross.”

“...”

“Strengthen yourself by killing me--”

“No.”

Nagito averted his eyes. He had been gone for too long and too devoted to those magazines to account for this. He was quite lucky to have outmaneuvered Junko Enoshima and Mukuro Ikusaba, but luck could only take a dim being like himself so far. Chiaki Nanami… She was beautiful--too beautiful for his eyes and too beautiful for his luck.

How did Chiaki get so brilliant?

A torrent of memories impressed themselves on Nagito’s mind. Chiaki was beyond her classmates when it came to video games, yet she still kept playing with them. He recalled a few times when he, of all people, managed to beat Chiaki. Such absurd memories must have been delusions--streaks of impossible colors embellishing her mental portrait. Regardless, she abased herself in front of her myriad inferiors. For their sakes.  

For Nagito’s sake.

Chiaki was the only one who welcomed Nagito’s return.

She was a hope that lit the dark corners of the talentless, in spite of his actions--

\--his actions?

Was Chiaki so hopeful _because_ of Nagito’s actions?

Nagito understood now. Overcome by this realization, he laughed. He felt new, cool streams rush down his cheeks.

Oh, wondrous luck, thank you! Thank you unraveling another mystery Nagito could never have resolved!

Nagito was interrupted from his jubilance by a sudden shriek. He tilted his face to the source of the shriek and saw that boy in the room clutching his head and kneeling over. Oh, that boy had been screaming for quite a while. Given a brief observation, Nagito noted the similarities between that boy and Ryota.

Chiaki had turned to that boy with a worried expression. Blood stained his face, as did a look of absolute terror. It took only a moment of brief eye contact for that boy to respond to outside stimuli. He shook his head violently and raced to the stairs.

“Wait!” Chiaki yelled. She ran after that boy, and the two disappeared up the stairs.

Nagito continued to lie on the ground. He hadn’t noticed it until now, but the smell of blood made an interesting combination with the lingering gunpowder fumes. He was still cold.

A grin emerged on Nagito’s face. What oddly persistent strokes of good luck. He searched his pocket and retrieved a USB drive from it. Junko may not have been the ultimate despair to birth the ultimate hope, but her efforts would not be in vain.

Nagito stood up and headed to the computer. He made sure to step over the spreading pool of blood and its source. He brushed a hand over Junko’s face but recoiled. So warm! Her talent captivated him even in her death, and her passion seemed to still reside in her.

It all made sense, now: those magazines weren’t cold to the touch; Nagito was simply so cold he overwhelmed Junko’s warmth.

Despair devouring hope… what horrific and amazing implications this had!

Nagito inserted the USB drive into the computer browsed through the various files in it. The majority of them pertained to video-making and drawing. The tablet and digital pen beside the computer’s mouse supported this trend. He looked at the posters adorning the room. All anime. Did that boy consume anime? With all this evidence piling up, it was almost as if that boy was an animator...

Ah, more enigmas were clearing up. ‘Ryota’ acted too odd for even Nagito to not notice earlier, and the supposed ‘ultimate animator’ did less _animating_ and more _saying_ he was going to animate, he recalled. Nagito would keep this in mind.

As Nagito searched and saved the files to his USB drive, he came across one oddly titled folder.

ZV (TEST 2)

The folder contained a single video file with the same name. Nagito raised an eyebrow but eventually relaxed. Why not test his luck one more time? He played the video.

…

… Huh.

… That’s it?

Nagito put a hand on his head and sighed. So this was the ‘ultimate despair’s’ trump card. Well, the video’s name certainly fit. This was a test: a test for both Nagito and his germinating plans.

Those people in the video certainly had a coldness to them. Each one of them was like an ice statue given life for the express purpose of destroying each other. As each fell, they returned to the blizzard of despair that animated them.  

None of them were as wintry as Nagito, though. In some ways, he appreciated this fact. It meant he deserved to entertain his ambitions. If he could improve on this video… Yes, the hope that would arise to defeat a fully realized exhibition of despair burned him just thinking about it! He saved the video to his USB drive, removed the USB drive, and grinned. Once he found a way to complete this video, he would show it to the world--and to Chiaki.

Truly, Nagito hoped Chiaki would be the hope that could withstand all. She withstood him, after all.

“Are you done?”

A violent shock rushed through Nagito’s body. He pivoted around. Sitting in the corner of the room rested two piercing, crimson eyes. The enigma to which the eyes belonged to was one with the shadows in the room and yet transcended them.

Nagito took a step back. What was this aura forcing him backward? “Who are you?”

The enigma’s voice remained still, even, and utterly dominating. “Your talent is luck.”

Another step back. “You… know my talent?”

The figure motioned in the blackness. Was it--was it walking towards him? No, the environment itself contorted and vanished at the enigma's will.

“I have that talent, too.”

“Where’s my--where’s my gun…” Nagito stammered out.

“My luck allowed you to get this far.”

“...”

Somehow, the enigma had reached just an inch away from Nagito without him even realizing it. Its visage coiled around his line of sight. It was all.

“Junko Enoshima… that’s it.”

“J-Junko…?”

“Her existence escaped me.” The enigma did not blink. “She bored me.”

“...”

“Your luck cycles between extreme fortune and extreme misfortune.”

“ _How can something so… dominating... exist?_ ” Nagito thought.

“The file you hold in your hands is your good luck.” The enigma raised a mighty hand to the air. “I will watch what you do with it.”

It happened before Nagito could perceive it: the enigma wrapped its tendril-like hand on Nagito’s neck and lifted him into the air; then, it tossed him to the farthest corner of the room. His mind failed to process the flight, and he could only understand what was occurring to him as an infinite connection of infinite, individuated instances. Color, touch, sound, all subordinating senses of his conscious intensified and disappeared during and after the steps from one instance to the next. The only constant throughout was the all-mighty presence of the enigma. Its nature was something Nagito never knew and never could know.

Nagito finally impacted the corner’s walls. The collision would knock him out immediately. The final, paradoxical instant of the infinitely many brought with it an equally paradoxical revelation. He, barely lucid and submerged in chaos, saw the revelation dawn like the bright morning star, lighting his path and creating an absolute sublimity to his existence:

The enigma, both hot and cold, both talent and lack of talent, both ultimate despair and ultimate hope, vouchsafed the future to Nagito.

“ _Thank… you…”_

Nagito Komaeda was luck.

But this was destiny.


	3. Doppelganger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back, dear readers?! Firstly, I want to apologize for the awful delay in publishing this new chapter. With the ending of DR3 being what it was and the frenetic state of college, I had to put my fan-writings in the back burner for a while. Don't think I didn't pay any attention to you guys, though: I saw a lot of the feedback and comments asking when I'd update this story again, and I have to say that they really motivated me to keep at this! I won't lie to you about any hint of a uniformed schedule, but have hope in me, OK? That's what Nagito would do. 
> 
> If you're wondering, I'm not touching NDRV3 until it's released in the States, so be kind and avoid being explicit about spoilers! For now, consider me solely a mainline DR fanatic. 
> 
> That being said, I hope you enjoy the new chapter! As always, all comments welcomed.

A murky noise beeped in the empty dreams of Nagito. The noise stirred him awake, and he slowly opened his eyes. His vision cleared, and a room, colored by rays of twilight, appeared. Pastel walls, a fake potted plant, plain bed sheets--typical things he’d see in a bland room. Another thing: the ceiling had rather ugly lights affixed to it. He could tell that much from the ceiling’s reflection off the stainless steel pressed against his neck.

Oh, right, there was that. 

Focusing on the glimmer and pressure against his neck, Nagito realized it was a knife. Not a bad knife, either--something he could imagine being used by the military. That reminded him, he should have acquired one, just to be safe. Wouldn’t have saved him in a straight fight with Mukuro Ikusaba, though. Luck can’t trounce talent (unless one’s talent is luck? A dreadful thought!). Luck can summon talent, at least. That much he was certain of, recalling memories still fresh in his mind. So warm and powerful, it felt like the presence embraced him…

Ah, much better than that cold knife. 

Knife?

Wait, what was going on? Oh, right, Nagito should get to that.

Nagito drifted his eyes up the gloved hand holding the knife to meet two cool blue eyes. Those eyes… they were Junko’s, save for one important fact: they were actually cold.

Everything was starting to click together. Nagito would have laughed if he could. It seems luck was going to see his plans for despair end with his own untimely murder!

“Ah, hello, underclassman,” Nagito said. 

The intruder pressed the knife closer to Nagito’s neck.

“Now that is an excellent knife. Anything inferior, and my throat would have been already punctured!” He smiled. “Not to discredit your talent… Mukuro Ikusaba.”

“Shut up.” Mukuro’s voice sent a shiver down his spine. Was it even possible to bark in a monotonous tone?

He smiled with closed lips. He gazed at no place in particular, letting his body melt into the warm bed sheets. Considering the more distinct features of the room, like a curtain behind Mukuro and a heart monitor stand beside him, he concluded he must currently be resting in a hospital room. How did he get here? Was it the work of… the presence? Chiaki? 

“Was it you? Did you send that girl after me?” she asked.

He continued smiling.

“Talk. Now.”

“Peko is her name, and yes, I was.”

“I don't care. You…” she pulled the knife away from his throat and turned back, “distracted me.”

“Sorry about that, but it had to be done. I couldn't do much with you as  _ her  _ shadow.”

A long minute passed in silence. “Her shadow. I am  _ hers _ . Yes…”

“I was lucky to have met her, you know. To see someone plan something so dreadful--so tainted with the worst of despair--was… sublime.” He sighed. “What a shame  _ Junko _ couldn’t live--”

Those dead eyes snapped into his view again, and he gagged from the hands pressing down around his neck. “You distracted me. If I were there, Junko would be safe. Junko is always safe, because I’m with her. I will always watch over Junko. But you distracted me.” She widened her eyes. “I won’t let you distract me again.”

He let out a hoarse laugh in-between strained breaths. “How do you--suppose you’ll--do that?...”

The white in her eyes was like a star, shimmering in the twilight room. “Kill. Kill the person who made me think of something other than Junko.”

“Well then--why not--just gut me?”

“Junko liked strangulations. She always talks about how great it is to see the life drain out of someone, how exciting it is to burst every single vein in their eyes.” She turned her head up to the roof. “Juuunnnko, are you watching this? Oh, of course you are, my sweet, sweet sister. Watching me kill the idiot who annoyed you is fun, right? This is what you want--I know it is! This is what you want. I’ll give you this, and then you’ll be safe and sound forever…”

“ _Just my luck,_ ” he thought. “ _I wanted to be the one to give the world the despair needed to summon ultimate hope, but this is where it will all end. Ah well, I suppose suffocating from the hand of the Ultimate Soldier is an amazing way to go for someone like me!_ _It’s all I could have hoped for!_ ”

Hope… Wasn’t he a servant of hope, though?

Didn’t the presence place its hope on him? 

He wheezed and shook in his bed, desperately trying to spit out anything remotely resembling words.

“Upupup…” Mukuro snickered. “Fat, ugly, and stupid… I really can't belong anywhere but at my precious younger sister’s side. She wants to see you suffer, and I must make her happy!”

“What--what if she wants me  _ alive _ ?!”

Her eyes continued shimmering in a violent contrast of white and blue. Her grip constricted his neck.

“I’m--the only--your only--hope to spread her  _ despair _ !”

The faintest stream of air rushed into his lungs. “Her… despair?”

The energy flowing back into his brain made his coughs and wheezes worth it. “The… the video. I have the video she was working on.”

A brief pause. “So what?” The gaze of a predator still lingered behind her now flattened face. “I also have a copy of the video. You’re irrelevant.”

“Am I? Why not release it on the world, then?”

“That kind of question shouldn’t concern you. You should be dead by sunrise.”

“But it should.” He tapped his forehead weakly, a tight grin emerging on his face. “I’ve seen that video, after all. Brainwashing, who would have thought of that? I seem fine, though… And that’s a problem, isn’t it?”

The retreating of her bottom lip and widening of her eyes was all the response he needed.

“As I suspected. It’s not going to spread despair in its current state. It needs more.”

“Spread… despair.” She clenched her fist. “That’s all Junko ever wanted. That what all of this… stuff… was done for.”

He twisted his face into a frown. “‘Stuff’? Those killings in the video, that hideout, your arrival at Hope’s Peak Academy--is that all you can call it?”   


“H-huh?”

“Those acts… were all for despair, and  _ were _ despair. So let’s call them what they really are and treat this seriously. Despair--ultimate despair--is an end in itself.”

He felt a ball of nerves grow in his throat. Despair, a means and an end? Was that what he was preaching to the person whose mercy he had to appeal to?

She cast her head towards the ground. A mumble as fleeting as a cold breeze escaped her unseen lips. “That’s--that’s what Junko would have said.”

“She would, and her efforts should not be in vain.” He tried to swallow the lump down but was surprised to feel that it had disappeared. “Do you want to know why I killed her? Do you think all that, after all that she planned for, she wouldn’t take the bumbling of me into account? No: someone so talented--so consumed with hopelessness--is always going to find a tool to act.”   
  
Her eyes slid to meet his.

“You’re barely starting to get my point; you really are stupid, tool #1. So let me introduce myself: I’m tool #2 of Junko’s. I’m here because I have the means and plans to finish what Junko started and become the very thing Junko hoped to be--”

He closed his eyes, tilted his head, and presented the whitest of smiles.   
  
“--the Ultimate Despair.”

* * *

The stream of sunlight washing over Nagito’s pallid skin did nothing to alleviate how cold he felt. At least he had some privacy now, though. The untimely visit from his tool--underclassman--gave him much to think about. The logistics of continuing Junko’s plan was not at the forefront of that contemplation. 

“ _ Despair is done all for the sake of hope, _ ” he thought. “ _ That’s all it’s good for. What I did was good. I’m--I’m not the end goal. My actions don’t justify themselves. But they’re good--because it’s for hope. Junko and I are not the same--I just need to convince the rest of the world that we are. But it’s just a tiny little lie. That’s all it is…” _

Preoccupied with this thought, he didn’t consider the lovely morning outside his window, nor did he notice his reflection gradually fading from the window’s surface.


End file.
